Spreading a memory all through the sky
by MissTinfoilHat
Summary: This is a continuation(and kind of a prequel) to The Boy In the Belfy. It should be read before this series, as I will reference it. It's modeled after the series feat. on ao3, because it has more followers there, but I'll update it as chapters on here too.
1. Chapter 1: Blood makes noise

_Blood makes noise by Suzanne Vega: _  
_Blood makes noise _  
_It's ringing in my ear _  
_And I can't really hear you _  
_In the thickening of fear_

* * *

**Blood makes noise pt. 1**

_Osamu Dazai is scared all the time. _

He is scared and in pain and it's been that way for as long as he can remember. But, it has definitely been a lot worse these last three months after the incident at the Shinja church then what it has been in a really long time.

There's a feeling of fragileness he can't seem the shake off. Like, he's about to burst at the seems any minute.

He'll hide it publicly, behind a cheeky grin as he seeks after an outlet from the cripling anxiety through snarky comments and a completely excessive amount of neediness.

His un-relentless self-destructiveness is fueled with the exasperated looks of his co-workers and Kunikida's naturally abusive nature towards him.

The worse he feels on the inside, the worse he gets on the outside and he knows that he is addicted to the negative attention.

Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps him from resorting to more drastic measures. But usually, it doesn't really, at all. Because he _needs_ the pain.

It's a clishè really, to assert physical pain to distract oneself from the physiological, but it's the only thing that seems to help when he gets like this. Too nervous and itchy and restless and uneasy.

Ever since his Mafia days, he's been drugged out on sedatives and anxiolytics. Nothing has ever really worked as well as pure concentrated physical agony. It calms his nerves when he can focus on the hurt he can _see_\- instead of the constant nervousness he feels in his chest and abdomen that doesn't amount to anything except a promise of uncontrollable panic later when he finally locks the door to his dorm behind him.

«Can you stop that?» Kunikida growls agitated.

Confused, Dazai hums dumbly. _What had he done this time?_

«You're shaking the entire desk!» Kunikida continues in the same hostile tone, giving an annoyed nod towards their facing desks.

_Oh._

He realizes that his feet are vigorously trembling again. Or more accurately, _foot,_ as his broken one hasn't healed to the point of exercising his neurotic tick just yet. Only the familiar tingling of none-movement lingering in his toes.

_Restless leg syndrome_, he knows.

Tryingly, he stretches his limbs under his desk, smirking as he feels the tip of his good leg kick at Mr. Ideal's shin.

Only receiving an oppressed snarl in return, any hope that the tension in his body would get some sort of release by Kunikida's firm grip around his throat, or solidity of his fist against his cheekbone, has disappeared.

It was actually really disappointing. Everyone's demeanor towards him seemed to have changed ever since... well, the_ incident._

He guesses he's not the only one who feels that he's more fragile now.

Frustrated, he tries to pinch the thin skin on the inside of his wrist. Some days that will do, but not today. His nails are too short to get a proper grip, and even if he had, it just won't be_ enough._

_No, not today and it hasn't really been for a while._

Not since Father came back. Not since he laid almost naked in front of nearly the entire Agency and Chuuya, getting his bandages ripped off his body, exposed as what he really was.

_A broken mind in a broken body. _

_An abused and scared little boy. _

_An evil and apathetic soul._

He had hoped that the ADA, especially Atsushi, never would have to witness him like that. That person was dead and buried as far as he was concerned.

_They had all seen him break the promise he had made Oda._

Watched as he lost his mind and stabbed his own father repeatedly into a bloodied pulp, fueled by such hatred and terror and other emotions he didn't know he even possessed any more.

He had lost count of how many people he had killed a long time ago. How many people's blood laced his scarred hands. But this time was different.

It was a life he didn't want to take, in spite of the fact that there had never been anyone he wanted more to kill.

_Father's blood felt different. It was the same blood that flooded through his own veins._

_'Shit_,_ everything is itching,'_ the old scars are scratchy and achy and he needs to do _something._

«Didn't I ask you to_ stop!?_» Kunikida spat.

His leg is shaking again. He needs to get out of the office before he does something stupid..._ like jumping out of the window._

«Sorry,» he harked, retrieving his crutches that's leaning on the side of his desk and places them under his arms. Heavily, he leans into them and carefully tries to place some weight on his injured leg, limping out of the office.

He doesn't see the concerned eyes that's following him out of the room, but he feels them on his back.

"Need to pee," he chirps, waving them off.

* * *

The short walk out of the office has already made his leg hurt, which initially is a bad thing. But, also good, since his goal was to distract himself.

He stops and takes a shuddering breath.

It's still not enough to chase away the memories. Every little thing seems to drag him back to all of his past pain these days. There's a lot to choose from and the lack of control that's unraveling in his head starts to prove a bit much right now.

In spite of the fact that he doesn't actually need to use the restroom, he enters it anyway. Some cold water in the face should do.

He intentionally avoids the mirror that hangs above the sink as he turns the knob on the tap. Filling his hands with the ice cold water, he splashes it to his face, waiting a bit, before he repeats the action.

_'It's not working'_, he thinks, sniffling and slowly looking up at the stranger that looks back at him in the mirror. A heavy sigh leaves his lips. He can't stand to look into those exhausted eyes. Only he truly knows all the horrible things that they've seen.

_'The boy with a soul as black as his eyes,'_ he remembers Father saying, as the reflection in the mirror suddenly wears a bandage draped over its eye.

Some days his head just doesn't work right. The well-known images that flicker in his mind, dragging him back to hell, whenever some small, insignificant detail slightly reminds him of something from before.

Sometimes he indulges it. Just lets it run its course.

_No, he's not going there. He can't go there. Not now._

Drying his face on his sleeve, he leaves the bathroom and enters the hallway once again.

Even the familiar brick walls in the hallway, that he had no troubles with for the past four years, brings back unpleasant memories.

_Specifically, the first time Mori had made Chuuya and himself spar._

Well, _sparring_ usually meant two people attacking _and_ defending themselves. With the two, it was mostly one-wayed back then in the basement at the HQ, thus the brick walls.

It was _stupid_. Post-traumatic-stress, Chuuya had said once, when he freaked out during a session.

He doesn't have time for this crap, but with the throbbing pains in his body, he can't seem to resist the bricks that lure and capture his mind and takes him away.

Transfixed on the wall, he lets his body slowly descend to the floor, feeling the rough surface scratch his back and tug at his shirt and bandages. His empty glare is watching as a familiar apparition is realizing itself out of his own shadow on the wall.

As always, it's Mori. _Dazai has always been a ghost of that man's shadow._

With his eyes closed shut, he falls into the abyss of a fractured beyond.

Phantom pain from the scars that have taken over his body starts to ache. He remembers the story behind every single one of them, even if he hadn't been lucid when they were placed there. But he can clearly recall why, when and where.

Mindlessly he places a hand on the back of his head, where dark brown hair effectively hides countless faded wounds. Slightly raised gashes under thick and unruly locks.

Grabbing a fist of it, he pulls down hard, trying to pull his head away from where this is heading, but it can't be helped...

* * *

It didn't matter how light his body was- the wall cracked just the same when being flung to it.

Dazai couldn't breathe. He felt his lungs scream for air while his body trembled in need to inhale. All he could do was cough while sliding down the wall, leaving a trail of crimson wetness behind him as his skull fractured on impact.

Small white dots danced before his eyes and the bile was rising in his throat.

On shaky knees, he got back up to his mockery of a fighting stance. He had received no martial arts training before he got put in the gym by Master Mori.

At first, there was no problems. Chuuya was lightning fast- bouncing up and down the walls, ignoring gravity and attacking while showing no sign of tiring. But, he couldn't touch Dazai without him nullifying his ability.

It took a while before Chuuya caught on, but when he did- he demonstrated his far superior strength with a kick to Dazai's solar plexus, sending him flying.

It didn't help Dazai's inability to protect himself from the physical attacks, that he had been more or less bedridden for the past six months while recovering from the injuries he'd sustained from the 'fall' from the clock tower.

Now, Dazai was mostly fighting to remain conscious. That at least, was something he knew how to do.

The ground felt like it was about to disappear from under him as his hand reached out to lean against the wall for balance and his free hand feasibly covered his eyes from the light that hurt when he looked at it.

Chuuya gave him some time to steady himself purly out of courtesy, until he heard the hard voice of Mori, yelling for him to quit _slacking off and keep going._

Once again, Dazai was pinned to the wall, this time by a high-kick to the throat. Dazai's head slammed against the wall and he felt his vision flutter as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Chuuya was smaller than Dazai in height, but where Dazai was mere skin and bones, Chuuya had already gained a significant amount of muscles while training with Kouyou.

If it hadn't been for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard Chuuya apologize every time he dealt another blow to the frail frame.

A final punch made Dazai fall to his side and crashing hard to the ground. He could bearly register his master's feet appearing in front of him before he went out cold.

* * *

Sometime later that evening, Dazai woke up at the infirmary with a raging headache. Mori was present, hovering over the bed with a small smile plastered to his pale face.

Immediately, Dazai felt his body tense in fear, because he knew he had_ failed_, he knew he had done_ bad,_ so_ badbadbadbad_ he had_ lost and was hurt again_ and Mori was going to be _mad_ and  
_disappointed_ in him after he had saved him from Father but_ now_ he was going to _hate him and punish him and..._

"I'm sorry," Dazai wimped hoarsely, feeling nauseated and utterly terrible and so,_ so_ scared.

But Mori's smile didn't waver.

"Nonsense, Osamu-kun. You did great."

If everything hadn't hurt, Dazai's eyes would have widened and mouth opened in a gasp.

"But, Master, I _lost_." Feeling embarrassed by his own weak voice, he shut his lips quickly.

"You were never supposed to win, little one."

_'Oh,'_ Dazai thought, without understanding why. But, if there was anything that he actually knew, it was that there didn't need to be a logical reason for anything that happens to him.

Mori's gloved hand stroked him gently over the hair that peeked up over his heavily bandaged head.

"Now, hold still for a minute," the older man said, and retrieved a capsule from his coat-pocket and a hypodermic needle seemed to appear in his hand out of nowhere, sticking it into the small bottle and letting it fill with the pink liquid.

"What's that?" Dazai croaked, watching the syringe warily.

"Just a little something I've been wanting to try," he chittered and leaned over the scrawny body in the bed.

"This is going to feel a bit unpleasant, but bear with me," he smiled as Dazai watched the needle come closer and closer to his eyes.

Minutes later, Dazai's vision was completely gone. Terrified, he lay in bed with his hands raised, ready to swat at anything that moved around him. Tears trailed uncontrollably down his face while his aching head snapped at all and any sound.

"You shouldn't have moved," Mori said patiently and was fiddling with something that Dazai _couldn't see._ "That might have permanently damaged the sight of your right eye."

"_S-sorry_," he sulked and desperately clung to Mori's hands as they came close to his face.

"I'm gonna put some gauze on it, it's bleeding a bit," he said mundanely and brushed at the tear that apparently _wasn't a tear after all,_ with a cotton ball, soaked with something that stung.

As the surgical tape was patched to his face, Dazai felt something in his body let_ go._

He wasn't sure of just what it let go of, but he knew it was something vital. Something that was_ supposed_ to be _there_, but_ couldn't_ reside in his shattered body anymore. _Like, it was too big for it to contain anymore._

_'Control,'_ he thought._ 'I don't even care anymore.'_

As a realization, he muttered the words _'I want to die'_, to himself and truly, _honestly_ meant them.

He didn't actually register that he had said it out loud, until Mori's response. "Oh, Osamu-kun, you're no use to me dead."

_'That settles it.'_

* * *

The morning after, came a knock on his door. Chuuya's voice was heard.

"Dazai?" he said in a dejected voice. "Are you okay?"

Dazai laid with his eyes closed as he heard his future partner grab the room-divider and pull it aside.

"Dazai? What are you doing?"

He didn't answer.

"Dazai?"

Chuuya walked further into the room, peering at the bandaged mess on the bed.

"Shh, I'm dead."

Dazai hardly moved but shut his showing eye even tighter.

"What?" Chuuya's voice came closer.

"I'm dead!" Dazai raised his voice slightly.

"But, you're_ not_."

"Sure I am."

"Why do you wanna be dead?" Chuuya's voice complained.

"Why do _you_ wanna be alive?"

"I don't think I like this game."

"Not a game. I'm dead. I've decided."

* * *

"Dazai?"

_Not_-Chuuya's voice spoke to him from somewhere that had the wrong reverb to be at the Port Mafia infirmary. Dazai suddenly remembered where he was.

"Earth to Osamu Dazai," Fukuzawa's deep voice sounded soft but tainted with a pinch of concern.

_"__I'm dead,"_ Dazai answered quietly with a faint smirk, as he opened his eyes to look up at the president of the ADA's tall figure.

Fukuzawa was apparently not about to grant that sort of statement any sort of attention. _It made him miss Chuuya a little, they hadn't talked in a while._

"My office for a moment, please," he sternly said instead, reaching out a hand to help Dazai up from the floor.

Reluctantly, Dazai accepted the help, winching, as he stretched out his back.

As Fukuzawa turned to walk back into his office, Dazai re-positioned the crutches under his arms to follow. He took two faltering steps before he stopped.

Fukuzawa stood waiting patiently in the doorway, gesturing his hand for Dazai to enter, but Dazai's legs wouldn't abide. The sole's of his shoes seemed to be stuck to the ground and he felt that his breath once again became more restrained.

"Are you coming?" the president asked calmly, opposed to the hard lock in steel grey eyes, surveying Dazai's every movement.

With a disbelieving look in his eyes, Dazai looked down at his feet and then up at Fukuzawa. Slowly, he shook his head.

"_No,_" he whispered in a shallow breath, as the knots in his chest returned and he was once again moving rapidly towards his own personal hurricane.

Fukuzawa took a few steps in Dazai's direction. That resulted in the shaking of the brown-haired man's head turned more insistent and a hand shot up, motioning him to stop.

"No,_ please don't_...come any closer," Dazai stuttered.

A deep shivering breath made his chest ache and it felt like his throat was closing. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he tried and failed to loosen it to make room for more air. _He knew it wouldn't help as his neck was bandaged, but it was worth a try._

"Dazai, I can _help_..." Fukuzawa tried, approaching as if Dazai was a scared animal, which, wasn't too far from the truth. Dazai cut him off.

_"__No!_ I need you to_ stop!_ I need... I need everything to just...slow... _down, please,_" he pleaded.

"Nobody is pushing you to do anything," Fukuzawa said calmly. "I think you're having a panic attack."

"_You're_ having a panic attack," Dazai retorted. The stupidity of the statement made him pause for a moment.

Fukuzawa didn't falter.

Dazai chuckled tiredly. "I'm sorry. You're right. I am in fact having a _slight_ panic attack."

"I know," Fukuzawa simply said and motioned his hand for him to come into his office again.

This time, Dazai was able to move. Obediently, he followed the director.

Once inside, he sat heavily on the _much more comfortable_ couch, which was probably the only surface in the entirety of the ADA offices that he hadn't napped on.

_He needed to do something about that._

"I've made arrangements for you to start therapy," Fukuwzawa stated abruptly.

Dazai laughed._ Loud_. Too loud.

"I appreciate your concern, chief. But, no. _No._" He looked at his superior, almost expecting someone to jump out from their hiding place and announce that this was all a part of a hidden camera act.

Fukuzawa was a _rock_. Didn't move, only looked at him with those eyes that could probably cut through steel if they wanted.

"I don't need therapy. I... I'm perfectly balanced. Anyone can have a panic attack. I'm fine. I'm good. _G-O-O-D, good." _

Still, nothing.

"I mean... shit happens, _right?"_

Fukuzawa needs to start talking, _he needs to stop._

"It's probably just a phase."

_Dazai, stop it._

"I've never needed therapy before, why would I need it now? I mean, it's not like I'm having a nervous meltdown over here, it's just a bit of restless legs you know, sometimes you just get it and don't realize it and then-"

_Oh God, please make it stop._

"-Kunikida get's mad and if someone needs therapy, let's take a look at him, I mean, O.C.D station next, am I right?-_ Please say something." _

"Your first appointment is on Friday."

* * *

_**To be continued.**_


	2. Chapter 2: Blood makes noise

**I felt like this story ended too abruptly, so I decided to make it a (short) two-parter!**

* * *

Friday morning, Fukuzawa was standing outside of Dazai's door.

Dazai awoke by the sound of heavy thumps outside. If it hadn't been for the fact that he knew his boss possessed the keys to all of the dormitories, he would have ignored it. But, there was no use. Before he was even able to hobble his way over to the door, it was unlocked.

The tall man stood with all of his might in his living room, arms crossed and a stern no-nonsense look on his sharp features.

"Coffee?" Dazai asked tiredly.

"No time. Get dressed."

Daza sighed deeply but complied. Arguing was pointless; he had never been able to get the man to so much as arch an eyebrow from his antics. In spite that his actions might sometime speak otherwise, he respected Fukuzawa and didn't really want to let him down.

Pulling his pants on, he reminded himself to remember that more often.

* * *

As usual, it was already forgotten an hour later.

Dazai's name was called in the waiting area. He didn't budge from his seat.

Defiantly, he flipped a page of the magazine he was reading, continuing to read the journalistic masterpiece of what some celebrity children ate for breakfast. Also, he craved toast.

Fukuzawa cleared his throat but gave Dazai the opportunity to pull himself together and stop acting like a child and go without being told to.

Dazai didn't particularly give a shit.

His name got called again, so he rolled his shoulders and bobbed his head back and forth, humming satisfyingly as his bones cracked and sank further into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

"He's here," Fukuzawa called, receiving a couple of looks from other patients. He turned to Dazai and stared at him until he looked back.

"So, what are you waiting for, go with the nice lady, Dazai," Dazai said.

"Funny," Fukuzawa mumbled and looked all but amused. Dazai frowned.

"...and stop acting like a defiant brat," Fukuzawa added calmly.

"You're not even my real father," Dazai sulked dramatically, faintly remembering something about being addicted to negative attention.

As he had come to expect (not with the lack of trying), the older man wouldn't humor him, so he rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine on the table he had picked it up from. Exaggeratingly, he moaned and got up from the chair, steadied himself on his crutches and walked over to the woman who had called his name. With one last scowl, he stuck his tongue out to Fukuzawa and followed the woman through the door and into a narrow hallway.

There were closed doors every few feet with name tags and titles on them.

When they eventually got to the office where he was supposed to be, he didn't bother to look at the tag on the front door. It didn't really matter. He was just going to tell the person what they wanted to hear and be done with it.

The office he was left in had a warm feel to it, with wooden panels on the walls and heavy dark furniture. There was a maroon coach and a black armchair. Plants and paintings brightened the room. It looked pleasant.

The woman who greeted him inside seemed nice as well. She looked to be in her forties, with shoulder-length white hair with some darker streaks in it, wearing a stern-looking, patterned suit. The smile lines on her face made her look more approachable, while still looking very much professional.

She smiled when he entered and came towards him with an outstretched arm.

"Osamu, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Patricia Highsmith, but please, call me Patricia."

_'Dr. Highsmith it is, then.'_

"Please, sit down," she continued, gesturing towards the coach. So, he sat in the chair.

Unfazed, she got her notebook and sat in the coach, placing one leg over the other and got straight to the point.

"Have you ever been to therapy before?"

Dazai shook his head.

"Well, okay. That's fine. I'm mostly just going to ask you some questions today about yourself and what you think I can help you with. Sounds good?"

He shook his head again.

"It doesn't?" she let out a small laugh. "We'll try, I'm sure it will be fine. I always start the first session with the same question; why did you come here today?"

"My boss."

_Honesty was easier than he had thought._

"Your boss?"

That was what he had said, so he let the question hang in the air. If she had a doctor's degree she wasn't that dumb.

"...and you're a bit reluctant to be here, would you at least agree to that?"

Dazai shrugged. She looked at him and didn't say anything.

It went on like that for a while. About three minutes, Dazai noted while looking at the clock on the wall. Only 45 minutes to go.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine with me. I'm still getting paid," she said calmly, sliding a cup of coffee that was placed on the small table over to him.

"You do," he agreed, keeping eye contact. _He could do this for a lot longer than 45 minutes._

"Fine," she sighed eventually. "I was warned about how stubborn you were, but I thought I would give you a chance."

"And that was _your _mistake," he cocked his head to the side and smiled brightly.

"Listen, Osamu. I'm a psychologist that specializes in people with abilities and I have 25 years of experience. There is nothing you can say or do to shock me at this point in my life."

Dazai noted that she did sound sincere, but he really didn't want to talk. Instead, he took a sip of the coffee that she had offered him.

"...and I'm also married to your boss," she quickly added. Dazai chocked on the coffee.

Violently, the coughs tore at his chest while he tried to expel the stray fluid from his lungs, while Patricia was patiently waiting for him to gather himself.

"I-I didn't even know the president was married," he spluttered eventually.

"29 years," she said, pointing at her ring finger.

"I thought he lived at the dorms?" Dazai continued in confusion.

"Nope. House with a yard. Three dogs and two kids who have already moved out."

"You're joking, right?"

"No."

"Fukuzawa?"

"That's my husband."

For a moment, Dazai only stared dumbly at her.

"Are you _sure_?"

She looked tired of him already.

"And how do you _feel_ about that?" he asked with a grin.

"I feel pretty good. How 'bout you?"

Dazai stared into the space in front of him.

"I'm just wondering who's apartment I've been stealing toilet paper from for four years then."

* * *

After having digested the idea of this being Fukuzawa's wife for a moment, Dazai finally decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She had to be a nice person if she was married to him. The man might not be a saint, but he was one of the best men Dazai had ever known. That wasn't necessarily a huge compliment, but it was _something_.

"I'm here because... I'm... not too good with... feelings. And stuff. I think."

"You think?"

"I think. I'm... not sure."

"Would you like to know what was written to me when they made your appointment?"

"Not particularly, no..."

"You are being kind of difficult right now," she stated with a stiff smile and a tightly gripped jaw.

"Well, maybe that's the place to start," Dazai happily suggested and copied the way she sat, legs crossed and resting folded hands on top of the knee.

* * *

_**(A/N: I had some fun finding typical questions that a therapist or counselor might ask their patients, and have mocked around with trying to answer them as Dazai might have. So... I don't know. You can choose for yourself if you want it to be part of the story or not. I just thought some of you might find it funny!)**_

**-What happened to your leg?**  
**-Fell of my horse, Seabiscuit.**

**-Why are you wearing all of those bandages?**  
**-Fashion statement. Fuck the police and the war on fascism and what-not, ya dig?**

**-What are you hoping to get out of this meeting?**  
**-Coffee, mainly.**

**-What is the problem from your point of view?**  
**-I think Kunikida is jealous of my hair. It's pretty damn good hair.**

**-What do you enjoy to do in your free time?**  
**-Crab.  
-Like, fishing for crabs?  
-No. Just crab.  
**

**-How does your problems make you feel?**  
**-Honestly, if he would just get a haircut, then, I'd stop calling him MacGyver straight away. It's as simple as that.**

**-What do expect from this process?**  
**-That you're gonna get increasingly annoyed with me.**

**-Is there anything you'd like to ask me?**  
**-Is Fukuzawa a gentle lover? Or is he more feisty? Like, a giraff... _Graur!_**

* * *

"Have you ever thought about committing suicide?" she asked, expecting another half-hearted attempt of a joke as an answer. When she didn't get a reply, she looked up from her form. Dazai was looking suspiciously at her.

"These are just some standard questions," she explained with piqued interest, showing him the form that was scattered with notes of body movements and facial expressions, not his actual answers.

"What did he tell you about me?" Dazai asked. His manner was unreadable to her this time. His body was perfectly still, the same way he had been sitting for the last fifteen minutes or so, his eyes were blank, almost dead while a slight curve to the eyebrow could remind her of someone who was worried or scared, while his voice turned softer and still, intimidating.

It was unsettling.

"I can assure you that my husband and I do not talk business in private," she said serenely as ever, still feeling some nervousness.

"Then why has your heart rate increased?"

She looked at him with confusion, untangling her legs and putting her notes down.

"Your skin has gotten more of a shine the last thirty seconds, which tells me that you're sweating. It might be an age thing, but your handwriting is slightly more crooked now than what it was at the start of the appointment, so you're hands are shaking. Your inhales are also not as deep as they were. _Come on_, you're the doctor here. I make you uncomfortable," he explained.

"What makes you think that?"

Dazai rolled his eyes as she once again turned the question back at him, but this time he was going to answer honestly.

"You told me you've been working here for 25 years, specializing in people with abilities like myself and your husband. Special ability plus mental health issues don't necessarily make the best combo, so... I think I can rightfully assume that you've met with some wicked people in your lifetime," he paused. "...so why would you be afraid of little ol' me? Someone who your dear husband considers a friend and ally, if, you don't know anything about me?"

She fell silent for a moment, looking intently at him. Then, she smiled.

"Well then, let's start over again. Why do you think you're here?"

"Because every act of evil I've committed, and, I guess, have been committed against me, regularly comes back to haunt me. Kindness is silent and graceful, but blood..." he sighed heavily with a strange smile on his lips before he found the right words.

_"...blood makes noise."_


	3. The We of Me

**We Of Me by Suzanne Vega**

**My squeezed heart divides  
Into two wide wings  
The world is  
A sudden place  
If you don't  
Belong to anything**

**Noah may have got it wrong**  
**There's one more**  
**That could belong**

**This must be the**  
**Irony of Fate**  
**That I and the world**  
**Are always separate**

**All other people**  
**Have a we to claim**  
**Except for me**  
**And my own name**

* * *

It was a Friday night, and everyone in the Armed Detective Agency was getting ready to close up for the weekend when the Yokohama police force called for their immediate aid in the investigation of a series of atrocious murders that had terrified their city for the last month.

The victims were healthy young adults, and it was suspected that there was an ability-user involved in the killings, as it seemed like the victims' organs were being harvested without the use of surgical equipment. They were all simply_ stripped_ of vital organs with no sign of trauma on their bodies. The police had some intel that the organs were being sold on the black marked and had traced them back to the Yokohama port, likely getting ready for shipment overseas to the Philippines.

In this particular case, Dazai had been specially requested, to Ranpo's clear dismay. But Dazai wasn't officially off his sick leave yet. He still had a heavy limp and limited movement in his back and needed a crutch to get around. But, he was being quite evident that he had worked through worse injuries than this 'silly little thing'.

No one doubted that, but in the ADA, that wasn't the case. Fukuzawa was very strict about the full recovery of any kind of injury before sending someone back out for fieldwork again. Maybe especially when Dazai was concerned since he was the only member of the ADA that Yosano had no way of performing a _'quick fix'_ on, had any sort of super-human strength or any kind of healing ability.

But, as they all knew by now, Dazai was stubborn as a jackass, and had a much darker past in the Port Mafia (not to mention all he'd been through before that), so when he made such a claim, there really was no arguing with him considering the severity and urgency of the assignment they had been asked to help with.

Fukuzawa hesitantly let Dazai off his strickly desk-only duty. If it hadn't been for the very real possibility that this maniac ability-user could potentially steal any of his subordinate's organs- if not for Dazai's nullifying ability, and for Yosano's clear memo that there was no way her ability could fix a completely missing organ- Fukuzawa would never have permitted Dazai to partake in such a dangerous investigation. Problem was, at this point, there seemed to be no other choice.

Not while there was no time to lose as the culprits were working quickly and rigorously, maybe leaving several new victims for them to find, while they got details of their suspected hideout over the phone.

The police force had laid it all out and ready for them to apprehend the suspects beforehand, as was demanded from the ADA's president for lending them the agency's help, mostly for the security of Dazai's reduced health.

And, as it turned out, Dazai's help had been more than effective. His ability had come as a surprise for the two attackers- one had the ability to paralyze and one had the ability to extract organs, and they both had been caught off guard by Dazai, and stood stupidly, watching their hands in disbelief until they were defused by Kunikida's note-book-made stun gun and apprehended by the police.

A job well done and nothing too challenging.

Kunikida was ushering the men away with the police, when he heard a faint sound of barking coming closer to where the_ not-so-much-a-fight-as-a-total-wipe-out_, had gone down.

_'Damnit,'_ he thought begrudged._ 'Just what we need.'_

The dog was approaching rapidly, snarling and barking viciously with saliva frotting around its mouth. Kunikida quickly wrote a note in his book and retrieved the dart gun with a mild tranquilizer from the page. He turned around to take aim, when he realized that Dazai was standing in the crossfire, frozen in place.

"Get away, you mummified dumbass!" he yelled angrily, but not as much as a twitch was seen from his partner. Before Kunikida could move away to get a clear shot, the dog attacked Dazai without hesitation and quickly locked its jaw around Dazai's right arm.

Dazai's mind was completely blank. The pure panic of the approaching hound paralyzed him. His brain was telling him to get away as fast as humanly possible and let the others take care of it, but his body wouldn't comply. It felt like the ground swallowed his legs as the dog came closer. Dazai closed his eyes before he felt the sharp pain in his arm.

Dazai knew that the human brain often shut off to protect itself from a traumatic situation, but_ this_ was _really_ not the time for that. He needed to stay _awake_ and _aware_ and _get away._ Needed to get this fucking mutt off of him, but it was too late. His mind had already fled, abandoning him in a very vulnerable state.

_That piece of _shit_ traitor._

* * *

He had been good. He had been_ so good_. Done everything they told him to do. Spoken when told to speak, shut up when told to shut up. Fucking_ barked_ when told to bark.

But, even a monster like him, must be allowed to have his limits.

Because_ kill when told to kill... no,_ he couldn't _do_ that. How could they expect him to kill an innocent and defenseless animal?

The dog was caged and looked _so defeated_. Given up on, abused, tired and starving, just like himself. They could just as well have told him to shatter his own reflection- because that was what this dog was.

Him.

Dazai peeked warily inside of the room where the cage was placed. One uncovered eye scanned it carefully as one uninjured arm leaned on the doorframe so his feet wouldn't give out from the trembling anticipation of nothing good. The room had a cold feel to it, something wrong and final, and Dazai knew that there was no coming back from it if he entered. Not that he really had a choice, because_ he was his_. Master Mori's tangled puppet and Mori was the only one that could untangle the knots in his threads.

_Or maybe he was the one who had twisted them into this confusing mess in the first place._

"I don't think..." Dazai started to say weakly but quieted himself when he felt a harsh nudge on his shoulder. He looked back and up to see Mori's airy grin curve into something unsound and unreadable.

"You don't think _what?"_ Mori sneered briskly. Dazai felt perturbed by Mori's irrational behavior. In a fracture of a second, Dazai's legs decided to flee, even if the rest of his body screamed for him to not make this any worse for himself. The suddenness of his getaway made Mori lose his grip on his frail shoulder, and Dazai bolted for the door.

It was locked from the outside with no way of opening it without a keycard. Dazai frantically looked around the room, noting that Mori was still standing calmly, if not a little agitated, in the same place, observing him as he tried to make his escape.

They were in the basement, and the only other way out except for the door, was through the air ventilation _(which would take way too long)_, or the narrow windows, far up on the wall.

There wasn't actually a way of opening the windows, nor was it to get up to the air vents. Dazai quickly analyzed his surroundings for anything heavy that might help him break the window. His eyes trailed the counters that aligned the walls on two sides of the room. They were all empty, but the drawers might hide some potential weapons.

Dazai advanced for the closest one and dragged it open. Only then, Mori made a move. The first useable thing Dazai could get his hands on was a flashlight. It was heavy. _It would maybe be enough to.._.

Dazai flung it blindly behind him when Mori lay a hand on his back, and felt a mixture of relief and horror when it connected with his master's head. Rough arms tried to hold him back, but something shifted inside of Dazai's mind and a strength he had no idea he possessed tore his arm out of Mori's grip. He hit Mori again, and again, once more, and one final time before Mori collapsed to the floor.

Panting and blinking in disbelief, Dazai quickly searched Mori's pockets for the keycard but came out empty handed.

_Damnit, there's no time for this!_

He weighed the flashlight in hand before throwing it at the window. It cracked, just a little. Dazai retrieved the flashlight and climbed on top of the counter. Furiously, he slammed the flashlight repeatedly into the glass until it shattered and pieces of glass fell over him like heavy rain. His hand was slashed open on the sharp points where he had been able to breach through, but there was no time to waste on such a stupid little thing.

His broken shoulder complained miserably when he forced it to help him climb through the window, shards ripping his clothes and cutting into his skin while he pulled himself up. Almost through, something mercilessly grabbed his leg and started dragging him back, but he desperately kicked until in let go. The second the hold of his leg eased, Dazai slipped through on the other side.

Dazai hesitated for a moment. He knew there was no way back from this. No way for him to ever make it_ right_, but it was already too late.

_'Oh God no_,' he had _kicked_ the Master. He had _kicked and hit him and made him mad_ and now he was going to get_ punished_ and he wouldn't be allowed to get the _sight on his left eye back_ for yet another _month_ and it would mean _more_ broken bones and _experimental procedures and... and..._

_'Shit, he had acted on a stupid impulse and now he had gone and wrecked everything...'_

Hasty, he tried to place where he was and saw that he had come out in the backyard. The starteling realization dawned upon him, that he had gotten out of the mansion, but there was no way he was going to be able to get over the barbwire fence that surrounded it.

With no other words to express it, he became aware that he was truly and utterly_ fucked._

Stumbling down the small hill between Kouyou's flowerbeds, he hobbled towards the gazebo and huddled down behind it, drawing his sore knees to his chest, resting his injured arm in his lap and nuzzled his face in the arm he left on top of his knees.

The pain from his cuts was starting to register on his body as the adrenaline wore off.

_'Excellent camouflage, stupid- no one will ever find you here,'_ he ridiculed himself, but was unable to move from his less than efficient hiding place. His breathing was_ too_ quick and before doing anything else, he needed to_ calm down_. An involuntary sob left his throat.

"Hey kiddo, you alright there?"

Dazai startled and pressed his back against the gazebo as his head snapped up towards the sound.

It was a young man, still a couple of years older than himself. He was tall, had auburn hair with beard stubbles on his cheek and grey eyes that looked curiously and intentive at Dazai with a mix of confusion and concern.

Dazai couldn't remember ever seeing him around the house before and his tan coat didn't fit in with the black ones usually worn by the members of the Port Mafia. That didn't mean he could be_ trusted _though._ Or maybe it meant he definitely couldn't trust him._

He didn't even know. He didn't know _anything_ anymore.

"You okay? You looked a little distraught over here," the man smiled reassuringly and crouched down in front of him as his arm moved from his side and proceeded towards Dazai.

Dazai quickly braced himself for punishment but was surprised when instead of a jab, his rowdy bangs were gently brushed away from his face.

With weary eyes, Dazai peeked upon the man, while his apprehensive body language showed that he was still very much guarded.

"You're bleeding," the man noted. It made Dazai retract his gaze and bury his face back in his knees, as well as hiding his other hand in his lap.

"My name is Sakunosuke Oda. Most people simply call me Oda, it's nice to meet you."

His soft voice didn't waver, and Dazai could_ hear_ him smiling. It was unnerving. The only person who ever_ smiled_ at Dazai was Mori. A twisted, plastered-on and stiff smile. This one seemed… _genuine?_

_Could that really be, in this house of horror?_

He decided not to say anything yet, just to be safe.

Oda chuckled mildly. "I'm new. I just got hired. You don't have to be shy."

A familiar voice was heard, closing in on them. It was yelling his name in an indecipherable tone. Dazai curled more tightly in on himself.

"Is that you- Dazai?" Oda asked, and looked towards where the voice was coming from.

"You probably shouldn't be seen with me," Dazai croaked, peering back up. He couldn't help his slightly protruding and wobbling bottom lip. "You might get in trouble."

Oda looked at him with keening eyes, before getting back to his feet. Mori turned the corner to the gazebo and almost ran right into the taller man.

"Oh," Mori exclaimed and mustered up a half-hearted smile. "Sakunosuke Oda. How nice to see you again." He had a small bump on his forehead that was starting to bruise. Dazai couldn't help the single tear escaping his tear duct.

"Dr. Mori," Oda smiled. "I just had the pleasure of meeting this bright young man," he said, gesturing to the trembling boy in the grass.

"Really?" Mori scoffed. "Yes, he certainly is a bright young man. Now, if you will excuse us, we have some training to get back to," Mori's eyes hardened as he looked down at Dazai. "Come on, Osamu-kun. _Recess is over._"

Dazai got up on shaky knees, obediently following his mentor back to the house. He had lost. He_ was_ lost. What could he possibly ever do to redeem himself from this? He had _hurt_ Mori and now Mori was _angry_, and he needed to be _punished._

Looking over his shoulder one last time, he could see Oda give him a short wave, looking deep in thought while they moved further and further away from him until he finally was out of sight.

* * *

Dazai faintly registered that he was being lifted from the ground and steadied between two people. One was Kunikida, he could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave, as well as the slightly annoyed huffs that escaped his throat whenever he was vainly hiding his misplaced concern for Dazai. The other one was harder to place, but he didn't particularly care then and there- what he really wanted to know was where they were taking him.

Unsuccessfully, Dazai tried to utter a couple of words that were supposed to read as_ 'what's going on?',_ but ended up sounding more like tone-deaf humming.

A car door was opened, and he felt himself being ushered carefully into a heated car, and that _'someone'_ was fastening his seatbelt. The opposite car door was opened, and Kunikida climbed in next to him.

"Hey, Dazai? Can you hear me?"

_'Well, duh.'_

"Mmm..."

"We're going to the emergency room to get that bite looked at."

_'No we're not, Yosano can handle that!'_

"Na-ah, Yossnh...dndt," he trailed off. Why did he even bother? He couldn't even pry his eyes open properly.

Once again, he let the darkness engulf him, giving up on fending it off.

* * *

They continued to walk in silence until they once again entered the Port Mafia mansion. Mori closed the door behind them and stayed still with his back against Dazai.

Biting his lips in anticipation of his punishment, Dazai finally decided to speak. "Master Mori, I- I'm sor-" he got interrupted by a slap that made him fall to the floor. Another kick followed shortly after and Dazai was left there, struggling to get some air back in his lungs. Dazai braced himself for another kick, but when it never came- he hesitatingly peered his seeing eye open.

Mori was looking at him. Dazai untangled from his cradled position and sat up, all the while keeping his gaze at the floor.

"Look at me, Osamu-kun," Mori said, his voice dripping with venom.

Dazai let out a shuddering breath, forcing the tears back for the _nght-time_ the last thirty or so minutes.

"Look at me!" The demanding tone left no room for hesitation, so Dazai snapped his head up, only to be met by a heavy thump of Mori's sole to his face. Orbs prickled in front of his eyes like snow for a moment, before his surroundings turned to black.

When Dazai came to, he was lying on a freezing cold, tiled floor. A liquid was running from his nose, and one fuzzy eye registered the blood gathering on the ground beneath him. He lifted his working arm to wipe the blood away, but it was held back by something.

Gathering himself for a couple of more seconds, he tried again. For some reason his brain wouldn't fathom that something kept his arm from reaching his face, so he tried a couple of more times until his ears perceived the rattling sound that was heard every time his hand was restrained.

"Master?" he wheezed bewilderedly, and finally gathered enough strength to sit up. He watched in confusion at his wrist. It was attached to a heavy metal bracelet with a chain that stuck to the wall.

He trailed the chain and noticed a second set, and followed it from the wall and back to his foot.

_'What?'_ he thought, before looking around in the room, feeling a faint familiarity. That's when he noticed the cage with the dog. It was still locked. A small drop of relief rushed through his body before a small beep was heard, and the small red bulb on the cage turned green, and it started to open with an echoing buzz.

Dazai's eyes grew wide as the Kengal started to move inside, restless and aggressively motions before it bolted towards him.

* * *

The next time Dazai was slightly aware, he was laying on a bed. It wasn't a comfortable bed, and he recognized his surroundings as being the emergency room. Moans and complaints were bouncing off the walls and he frowned of the Agency's decision to bring him there. His injury needed a couple of stitches _at most,_ and he had already had his tetanus shot. Nothing Yosano couldn't handle. This was too over the top.

His vision still hadn't cleared, so he jolted a little when an apparition came into view, and a bright light was shone in his eyes. An inaudible voice was talking to him. He wanted to tell him that he _couldn't understand him_ and that he wanted to _go home_ but his lips only parted and nothing more. Nothing more, until he realized the throbbing pain in his head. It was too much and his stomach quelched as the bile started to claw its way up in his throat.

"_Phuuke_," he was finally able to croak out, and the person, presumably a doctor, quickly helped him to his side and held a basin close to his face, holding a reassuring and strong arm on his shoulder while his body started to convulse in the process of emptying itself.

* * *

_The dog wasn't as defenseless as he had thought._

Dazai tried to get away. He swiftly got to his feet and instinctively ran in the opposite direction of the Kangal. The chains yanked him violently back when they had reached their limits, and he was slammed to the ground, clawing at the floor.

The dog quickly got its hold on his foot and started to drag him back, as if it wanted to take him back to its cage and devour him there. Dazai fumbled around for something to hold on to, and grabbed the chains and started to drag himself away and kicked after the dog.

He hit the dog on its snout, and a pained yelp was heard as it let go. Dazai scanned the room and only then noticed the locked chest that was placed on the floor, a couple of feet from him.

_'Of course, the Master wouldn't leave me in here to be eaten by a starving dog,_' he thought. in front of the chest, lay a hairpin, and Dazai understood what this 'training' was supposed to be. He needed to break into the chest to get a weapon to defend himself. He briefly contemplated to just use the chest to beat the dog to death, but unfortunately, that as well was chained, restricting it tightly to the floor.

While the dog was still somewhat immobilized, he crawled towards it and picked up the hairpin. The rapid movements triggered the dog, and again, Dazai could feel the vicious teeth piercing through the skin on his upper thigh. Furious and desperate scratching was tearing at his pant legs, but he couldn't let himself be distracted. The art of picking a lock with so few tools was-

'_Oh, oh no._' He wasn't even able to _reach_ the chest. _It was too far away._

"No, no, no,_ no!"_ he gasped and turned around to kick the dog again. He missed, and the dog grabbed his arm instead, shaking its head as Dazai felt the blood run down his arm.

Dazai still held the hairpin in a death grip, and without a second of hesitation, he stuck it into the dog's eye, making it winch and once again back away.

He felt horrible. He hated Mori for making him do this. He hated himself for doing it. Where was his death wish now? What made his life any more valuable than this dog?

Unfortunately, he had never seen a dog being used to _anything_ besides training in the Port Mafia, and if he didn't do this... well, he already knew what was going to happen to the poor mutt.

It was him or it, _or,_ him _and_ it.

With a frown, he started to examine his cuffs. So that's what he was actually supposed to break out of, wasn't it?

As the dog charged towards him, he decided to block it out. He was going to unlock the cuffs and get the weapon, making the dogs death as swift and painless as possible.

Ignoring the pain of the dog's desperate attacks, he started the tedious task of picking the lock on his wrist. It had been so much easier if he wasn't bleeding from both of his palms and his freaking shoulder hadn't been overly strained on his ingenious escape attempt.

_Served him right for being such an ungrateful little brat._

With a small click, he felt the first lock give out, and he quickly shook it off, deliberately ignoring the sneaking suspicion that the dog had taken an actual_ bite_ of his thigh. Wasting no time, he continued to work on his leg. This was easier, as he was finally able to use his dominant and slightly less injured left to guide the pin. Another click and before checking if it had opened, he threw himself towards the chest, again, agitating the dog.

His heart was pounding in his chest when he poked the pin inside the lock, looking for the magic spot that would make him able to turn it around. He was forced to flinch and hit the dog away as it suddenly bit the side of his face, probably ripping half his ear off as well as all of the bandaging, exposing his sensitive temporarily blind eye to the dim light in the room. A sharp pain shot through his eye and head, but he chose to ignore that too. Instead, he closed it _(as far as he knew, at least),_ and continued with the task on hand.

Finally, after way too long, the lock gave out. Trembling fingers fumbled to open the lid.

The sight in front of him kicked away the last fight that was left in him. He had anticipated a gun or at least a hunting knife. A fucking hammer would have been better than this.

Inside of the box that he had spent the last (he didn't even know put probably at least an) hour to break into, laid nothing more than a puny and dull butter knife.

* * *

Whatever was going on around Dazai, he didn't understand. People were rushing around him and he couldn't seem to break out of his sluggish state.

_Hah,_ he thought._ Maybe I should be the slug. I'll start to call Chuuya mackerel. Squirmy little slimeball... Shitting everywhere even after it's dead._

He suddenly felt a little offended that his ex-partner would call him that. It wasn't very nice.

_Aha, he trailed_ off again. He needed to concentrate and try to figure out what was going on. After a quick assessment of himself, he knew he had that dog bite on his arm which was probably stitched up while he was out. The headache, nausea and general fogginess, could be the result of a concussion if he hit his head when he fell, which, could prove serious this time. He knows he's been concussed more often than what is healthy, and the last time wasn't too long ago. That might be it.

"...rab..s...st." The muffled words were hard to comprehend. Someone was trying to tell him something. He squinted his eyes to clear his view and was slightly successful, watching the lips on the nurse talking to him intently.

'_R..rabies shot?'_ the lips seemed to spell out.

_...Oh. Okay._

_Yeah. This might be bad. _

* * *

The furry body laid, finally unmoving, in a bloodied pile. A few feet in front, with his back turned away from it, sat Dazai in his own pool of blood.

His body was covered in bites and scratches. Most noticeably, his face had several bleeding wounds everywhere. His inner thigh had a deep chunk bitten out of it.

He sobbed quietly, holding the small butter knife in a tight grip. The taste of bile was in his mouth, and he could only shift slightly before he retched and started to throw up all over the floor and himself.

As soon as his stomach had settled, he scooted away from the vomit and further from the cadaver before he hurled the knife with all the force that was left in his broken body to the wall. It chimed sharply as it bounced off it and landed somewhere behind him.

The sobbing was less quiet now, but he didn't care. He wanted to scream until his voice gave out. Wanted to _shout and curse and cry and laugh and... _die_. _He just wanted it to be_ over.  
_  
If only Master Mori would come back and let him out soon. See how good he had done. Maybe then... it wouldn't be so bad after all? Mori always praised him when doing good, and he had, hadn't he?

He'd been sitting there for several hours, but Mori still hadn't let him out. Must have been another punishment from his stupid stunt from before.

The floor was cold and his entire body was covered in goosebumps- blood, gore, and goosebumps. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to travel to his happy place.

_It was in the garden, except, the mansion wasn't there. He imagined that it had burned down to the ground with everyone in the Port Mafia still in it. He had locked the doors himself._  
_It was just him and Chuuya, teasing each other, laughing and playing soccer. How long had it been since they had been allowed to play together? Probably more than a year. They were still talking, studying together sometimes, but, they were never able to actually enjoy themselves anymore.  
_  
_To his surprise, a tan coat appeared in the picture. Auburn hair waving peacefully in the refreshing wind, smiling reassuringly at them with his hands in his pockets._

The door to the cool, tiled room creaked, and Dazai lolled his head, too weak to actually hold it up properly. He was queezy still, and he felt dizzy and unwell.

The door opened all the way, and a familiar face appeared in the opening. A small streak of light shone on the battered face of the young teenager who sat, cradling himself on the floor.

Dazai's worried face peered in its direction as Mori entered the room. A twitchy but relieved smile became visible on the teens face in recognition, and Mori smiled back. Something seemed off though.

Something different and _wrong_ in Mori's eyes.

Regret? Maybe even sorrow?  
Dazai's faint smile morphed into a scream, as another dog was released into the room.

* * *

The next few hours went by in a daze. He faintly registered being moved around to different rooms, spoken to and injected. There were countless blood samples. All the while he drifted in and out of consciousness. Bandages came off and on his arm several times, different hands probing and poking around. The only word he tried to be alert of, was_ 'rabies'._

How many times had he daydreamed about his death? And actively pursued it? Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined that it would come from a potentially incurable disease. _Maybe least of all rabies._

_Pneumonia? Maybe. After a failed late autumn or winter drowning session. From the cold or liquid in the lungs. Perhaps something related to sepsis, from untreated wounds. He couldn't write that one off yet, he supposed._

He remembered the comforting sound of his deceased best friend's last words.

_"You'll be lost, wandering in the darkness for eternity. Join the other side and save people. If the two truly are the same, become a decent man. Fight for the weak. Protect the children who have lost their parents. You may think justice and evil are two sides of the same coin. But that way, you'll be on the side that's slightly more admirable."_

The irony of it all wasn't lost on Dazai. He had spent the past years, doing everything he could to find meaning. A purpose to live for. In a way, those words were it, and still, he pursued his release in death.

After everything that went down those months ago, where he had faced off with his demons in a more literal sense than most, he'd have this strange thought that he might actually be able to fill that large gaping all-consuming void inside of him. And now, after everything... Was it all just going to end like this? If he was going to be _offed_ by a fucking _dog,_ he could just as well have stayed with Mori in the mafia.

_Why would he feel like he had any right to be bitter?_

* * *

_He had done it. He was done._ This _had_ to be it. Sure, he had messed up, really,_ really_ bad, but if Master didn't want him dead, he had to come back now, because, he knew there wasn't much time.

The blood on the floor belonged to no more than three creatures. Two dogs and himself. The three of them.

_'Where I belong. Like a fucked up little family. The two of you makes _the _we of me.'_

He looked at his hands, stained in blood and somehow, he knew he needed to get used to it. Knew that it wouldn't be the last time.

Maybe these were the same exact blood covered hands he saw, trying and failing to do _good_, even_ ten years later?_

He had never been able to wash it away.

The lock on the door finally clicked. Dazai flinched. Small shaky hands held out the crimson stained butter knife, ready to provide a quick and as painless as a possible end to whatever poor soul that was about to be released into his solitude.

But no one came. No dog, no Mori, no Chuuya, no Oda.

Tryingly, he placed his feet under him to stand up, but it proved fruitless. Instead, he fell on his stomach on the floor, making blood splash around him like puddles on a rainy day. Only then did Mori appear in the doorway.

He didn't smile, but he didn't look upset either. Still, there was something in his eyes that told Dazai that this probably pained him none the less.

"I'm _sorry," Dazai uttered in an unstable voice, involuntarily sobbing at the sight of his one and only protector._

Mori's face softened as he looked around in the room, the two carcasses and the third one, himself, that didn't look much better.

"I'm sorry," Dazai repeated._ "I'm sorry m'sorry m'sorry ___m'sorry___!"_

Calmly, Mori walked towards him. Gentle hands lifted him up, cradling him in his arms. Dazai grabbed weakly at his shirt, leaving a bloodied handprint as he started to cry uncontrollably and hard and big wet tears, washing red off his own face and leaving pink trails down his cheeks and onto his master's shirt.

"Shh," Mori cooed. "It's okay. You did good, chibi."

Dazai closed his eyes by the reassuring words. He decided from that day forward, he would never oppose to Mori again. Never question him, never do anything to hurt him like he had -_stupid little shit-_ never again!

"I'm proud of you."

* * *

"Mr. Dazai?"

_'Noo... sleepytime.'_

"Mr. Dazai?"

_'Please... just let the dead man stay dead.'_

"He's not waking up."

_'Jeeze Louise, fine...'_

"Mr. Dazai?"

"I said_ fine!"_ Dazai flinched at the intruding light that assaulted his corneas as his eyes flew wide open.

"_Ow_..." he muttered, covering his face with his one obeying arm.

"Oh, Mr. Dazai. You're finally awake." A young and pretty nurse was standing over him, smiling. A stolen look at her, made him change his tone drastically.

"Let me bite you," he said feverish and dreamilngly, not bothering to add the_ 'and infecting you with rabies so we can die together'_ part. He knew he was strange, but _that_ would be a little excessive even for_ him._

The nurse giggled nervously and retracted her hand, that magically had appeared in his own. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake," she said, not being able to exit the room quick enough.

"Nice one, knucklehead," came a familiar voice, on the opposite side of the room. Kunikida.

"Ah," Dazai singsonged. "So you've come to witness my descent into madness too!"

Kunikida looked stupidly at him, before sighing heavily. "If this is about the suspicions of the dog being infected with the rabies virus, then _yes,_ it was. But we got you here quickly, so they have it under control."

Dazai couldn't help it as the wave of relief washed over him. Apparently, that was evident, as a crooked smile came to show on Kunikida's face.

"So no, I'm afraid that this isn't your ticket out of your desk duty either."

Dazai frowned. "You're mean."

"And you're severely concussed, idiot. We should have made you wear a helmet."

Hatred burned behind Dazai's half-lidded eyes. "_Fine_... desk duty it is, then."

* * *

In the next weeks at the Port Mafia infirmary, Dazai was bedridden and strictly forbidden to go outside. Not that he could if he wanted to. The bloodloss he had suffered during the fight had made him sick and dizzy and left him with numeral soft-tissue infections, lacerations and crush injuries, as well as damages to his tendons, ligaments, and bones.

On the bright side, Mori had let Chuuya visit. Dazai never told him what had happened, but Dazai being bandaged and confined to a bed wasn't anything new. Instead, they talked, a lot, did some reading and played card games. Chuuya always won those, even how much Dazai cheated. That was the good thing about being bandaged all the time. It was an excellent hiding spot for extra cards.

At the end of his third week on bed rest, Mori finally agreed to let him sit outside for a while. He couldn't walk, so he had to be carried. He was left in the gazebo, huddled up in blankets with a book of fiction (for once), enjoying the sweet autumn breeze.

That's when he recognized the tan coat. Oda was walking casually towards him, getting an iffy look on his face as he came closer and saw what sorry state he was in.

"Hey there, champ. What happened to you?"

Dazai shyly averted his gaze. He didn't want to tell him. It was embarrassing. "Nothing," he decided on.

Oda nodded, deciding to leave it alone. "What are you reading?"

Dazai looked at the cover of the book he had rested in his lap, grabbing it and holding it up for Oda to see.

"Odyssey? That's an interesting choice."

Shrugging, Dazai placed the book back in his lap and huddled further under the blanket. "T'was a gift," he said silently, with a sad smile. Oda returned it.

"Mind if I sit?"

Dazai looked wide-eyed on him as if it was unthinkable that anyone could stand his company unless they absolutely had to.

"Maybe I could read for you. Can't be easy to read with only one eye."

Dazai gave him a faint nod, feeling his blanket shift as Oda sat down beside him on the bench and picked up the book, flipping the pages until he found the mark and resting his arm on the back of the bench. He began reading.

Listening intently, Dazai was almost more fascinated by the sound of the man's voice than the story._ It was so kind._ Almost without realizing it, Dazai leaned further in. After only a couple of minutes, he was resting his head on Oda's side, feeling the vibration in his chest as he read.

That's how Dazai fell asleep. Content, snug and..._ okay._

For the first time, in a long time, he felt reassured. He dared to believe that everything might just turn out fine in the end.

Little did he know that it was in that exact moment a bond was tied between the two. A bond that would remain strong through thick and thin, life and death. At that exact moment, he had gained his biggest supporter. A protector. A guardian angel. _A friend._

It didn't turn out fine in the end. Not for him, and least of all not for Oda, or the orphans.

Dazai had let his mind travel back in time to that precious moment in the gazebo, many, many times later in life. It was his new happy-place, strictly reserved for enduring only the most horrific acts of torture and the last resort on those days, where all he could see was his blood stained hands. When he would be standing on top of the tallest building in Yokohama, feeling how the pavement below was calling for him.

It's the only thing that could make him re-think it. The only thing Oda ever wanted, was to keep his orphans safe. Save those kids, and he had failed.

Dazai wasn't going to fail him too.

It made him step off the ledge, every single time.


	4. Unbound

_** Unbound**_

_I knew a plant whose roots were bound  
and then returned  
Into the ground  
Every day  
I watched it grow  
every day  
it struggled so_

_I dug it up  
I cut the twine  
And so like this  
I made it mine  
I watched it drink  
And watched it feed  
And grow beyond  
its simple need_

* * *

**I just wanted to get a little sappy for a moment. This writing-thing has been such an amazing tool for me. It's so healing and comforting, and everyone's positivity has been overwhelming.**

**Today I was at a funeral. My brother's granddad died very suddenly last week, and we went, mainly in support of my younger brother.**

**There, I met a man that has brought me a lot of grief in the past- for the first time in nearly 20 years. And it was really weird. I've never had a reaction like that to anything before. I usually consider myself very emotionally stable. Almost a bit stoic. But something cracked and I felt so much. Too much. I got the release from something that I didn't even know that I was still holding on to. And it was really good, and really painful at the same time. But I think I forgave him.**

**I gave a man I've hated my entire life a hug today and I didn't want to let go.**

**It was a big inspiration for much of this chapter.**

* * *

It wasn't uncommon for Ougai Mori to feel remorse for the rough treatment of his young prodigy, but somehow, this time, he felt like he had stepped over an invincible line. The thirteen-year-old had been bedridden in the infirmary for the past two weeks, battling infections and high fever after the latest session.

The latest session that had escalated to a point where Mori knew his rage had gotten out of hand and he stopped caring what happened to Dazai. He wanted to subject the teen to pure cruelness and make sure that he understood what he had done.

Running away was cowardly, and if there was one thing that the Port Mafia didn't tolerate, it was a coward.

_All Mori was worried about under and after Dazai's attack on him, was how stupid he would look in front of the boss if he was to find out that he had been overpowered by a sickly little child- a child _he _had insisted on them taking in._

Mori rested his face in his hands, massaging his temples in frustration by his own selfishness. Always was it like this with Dazai. Mori would become numb while being instructed about the newest creative way the boss wanted Dazai's training to proceed and tried to keep that emotion through it. Afterward, he would always feel scattered.

Dazai was the Port Mafia's little lab rat. While treating his injuries, sometimes with anesthesia and sometimes without- depending on the injury as well as his mood- he was free to try out all of his latest theories and concoctions.

After all, that was the reason he held such a high position in the mafia. He developed highly effective remedies and instruments to be used for the mafia's interrogations. For the last couple of years, he had been working on a serum that would cause temporary blindness, to be used in the more... humane sessions.

Dazai was his main test-subject for this. His right eye had been partially or fully blinded repeatedly for years. The biggest issue at this time was the extreme light sensitivity it brought, as well as the spontaneous bleeding. Mori didn't know yet if it would leave permanent damage or not, but that was where Dazai came in to play, after all.

Mori contemplated whether or not to take advantage of Dazai's bedrest to try out his newest version of the serum, but decided to save it for a later time.

In his guilt-ridden state, he had gone out last night and bought a copy of Odyssey, his favorite book, to hold Dazai company while recovering. Even after doing so, he couldn't sleep.

All this time had been charged with horrid nightmares- not only for Dazai, who had been a restless sleeper since the day Mori brought him in. He himself hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep since the day he had locked the kid in the room with the dogs for almost an entire night.

At first, it had seemed like a good idea for Dazai to improve his lock-picking skills, as well as working under pressure. Then, things had gotten out of hand when he had tried to make an escape. Mori realized a little too late, lying on the ground with a throbbing headache and a growing bump upon his head, that this was the first time he had put Dazai in the position of killing another living being.

_For just a fraction of a second, he had actually feared it would be him._

Maybe he should have started with something easier than a dog. Something that might come more natural to a human, like butchering a pig. But at that point, when Dazai had physically attacked him, it was too late. Dazai needed to be punished for his unacceptable behavior. Any mercy he might have shown the boy was quickly out of the question. Still, he felt uncharactersitically uneasy about it. Every stitch he had embroidered into the boy's skin haunted his dreams. Every broken bone that the Kengal's brutish jaws had caused made him jolt awake. Most of all, the boy's unwillingness to fight back from the torturous abuse was the most unsettling part of all.

When he first had met Osamu Dazai, that was what attracted him to the boy. A small figure, lingering in his father's huge shadow. Broken and hurt, but not showing any sign of it, except for the dull darkness in his eyes. Now, it was just heartbreaking.

The boss had been reluctant to Mori's initial plan's for him, but seeing the results, the boss was suddenly getting inventive. Mori knew that he wouldn't give the boy much more recovery time before he would order the training to continue.

That was why he kept trying to toughen up the boy even more.

He suspected that the Port Mafia boss felt some kind of sick pleasure from the torture, and frankly, he had known that it was going too far for a long time.

Mori was seated behind his grand mahogany desk in his small office, resting his still-aching head in his hands. The bump inflicted by the flashlight was long gone. This was from pure stress. A glass of expensive cognac was resting by his right arm. He had hoped it would prove some relief for the tension he was feeling. It did take the edge off, but his head was still racing a hundred miles per hour, wondering if there was any way for him to make things right. To gain the boy's trust once again.

Finally, he got up from the comfort of his office chair and strolled back into the room to a heavy chiffonier. Opening one of the drawers, he quickly found what he was looking for. An old wooden chess board folded in half. He took it under his arm as he left his office, locking the door behind him and started making his way through the building, heading for the infirmary.

He gave a courtesy knock at the door, well aware that Dazai wouldn't be expecting anyone else. Also that he would in no way be in any shape to answer the door himself. He turned the door handle slowly, letting the door creak open on its own, making the boy in the bed alerted of his company.

Dazai was as pale as the sheet, almost blending in completely with his white covers. Chocolate colored eyes widening in surprise as the disturbance startled him from his distant stare at the wall.

"_Master,_" the boy stated quietly, lowering his gaze to his lap as the older man stepped inside the room.

Mori didn't greet him though, only stepped inside, closing the door shut behind him and lingering there for a moment.

Dazai was apprehensive, trying and failing to psych himself up for his next training session, even if his body was utterly annihilated.

Mori placed the book in the boy's lap, one eye gingerly following his movements.

"Just a little get-well present," Mori said with a sad smile, ruffling the boy's hair. "Also, I thought you might be bored."

One deep brown eye unhooked itself from the older man's unexpected present, curiously peering down at the folded chessboard with careful interest.

"How are you feeling?" Mori asked, knowing that Dazai would never answer this question truthfully. He had treated his injuries personally, so the hoarse _'fine'_ didn't fool anyone, least of all him, except for maybe the boy himself.

"It must get lonely in here by yourself," he tried, gesturing to the chessboard. "Ever played?"

Dazai gave a short shrug in reply, doing his best to sit up straighter. Mori helped him, propping the boy up more properly against his pillows, before pulling the over-bed table closer and setting up the board.

Dazai mirrored the older man's setup with one working arm while Mori explained the rules.

"Chess is a game of strategies. It teaches you to play by the rules and take the consequences of your actions. You have to make every move with a purpose, and it teaches you to adjust when things don't go as planned. _Be the chess player, not the chess piece,"_ he smiled, before making a move._ "_Knight of F3."

* * *

Dazai stood across Mori's desk with the most genuine distraught expression Mori had ever seen, glazing the young man's face.

"I really need to know," Dazai continued, looking like he was about to lose his footing. He couldn't have slept a whole night since the incident, by the looks of him, his face worn and eyes tired. Blue rings encircled rich brown eyes, only one seeing clearly, Mori knew, which the former demon prodigy struggled visibly to keep open.

"Why did you make me into this? I had a shot of not turning out like him, still, there's not much difference, is it? All I've ever done is using people to reach my own selfish goals and I just can't... _sleep," _he breathed in a hitched manner, almost as an afterthought, finally letting himself glide down onto the chair across the desk, letting his crutch rest against his lap.

"Did I ever even have a shot of being _just normal? _Was I ever actually unbound from the shackles of the belfry?"

Mori revealed a soft grin, calmly getting up from his own chair, walking towards the old chiffonier, opening the same drawer as he had done nine years ago for the first time since Dazai had left the Port Mafia.

Graceful fingers picked up the dusty chessboard, blowing off the dried powder. He retreated to the desk, unfolding the board without a word. Apathetic, coffee eyes watching with slightly piqued interest as the Port Mafia boss placed the white pieces methodically.

Finally, Dazai sat up in his seat, straightening his stiff back with a small winch and followed the older man's lead.

"Chess is an interesting metaphor for life, isn't it?" Mori started while picking his pieces from the table. "It starts off with what seems like a series of insignificant moves, and then, comes the middlegame, lasting an undecided amount of time and is highly unpredictable." He stole a gaze towards his former subordinate, slowly setting up his game thoughtfully, eyes bloodshut and mouth scrunched.

"It's a whirlwind of unforeseeable events that are difficult to analyze while they occur, making the player's faith uncertain."

"What are you getting at?" the uncharacteristically hoarse voice of Dazai murmured, folding his arms as he had finished setting up.

"That I don't know if things would ever turn out any different for you, son. Some traits are by circumstance and some are inherited."

"So you think I'm evil by heritage?"

Mori scoffed lightly, resting his chin thoughtfully in his hand. "No, I think you're horribly depressed."

Dazai didn't dignify that with an answer, only looking completely unamused at the black-haired man, nodding towards the game. "You start."

"Of course. Knight of F3."

* * *

"Checkmate," Dazai said in surprise, wide-eyed and forgetting all about fatigue and injuries, looking at his king at H5 and his pawn on G4. Mori raised his eyebrows, slightly impressed, scrutinizing the board as to make sure.

"My, you're right. Not bad. Not bad at all. That's the first time, yes?"

"I've beaten you? I think so." Dazai only stared for a moment, blinking repeatedly. Only then did Mori recognize the flush of fever on Dazai's cheeks, exaggerating the physical effects of his exhaustion. A thick droplet of sweat trailed down from his forehead, leaving a dark stain on the collar of his jacket. His breath seemed more labored than what was normal, Mori noted, having been too engaged in the game to realize Dazai's worsening state sooner.

"Dazai-kun?" Mori asked cautiously, scrambling to his feet and starting to round around the table. "Dazai, do you need to lay down for a bit?"

"Yes," Dazai mumbled, before collapsing forward, falling unconscious towards the chessboard, knocking the remaining pawns to the ground. Mori rushed to catch him before he hit the floor, gently lifting him up in his arms, bitterly reminded of all the times he had held him in a similar matter in the past.

"Pawn mate, huh? After all these years you still manage to surprise me."

Mori carried him over to his maroon leather couch, letting him rest in his lap. He was quivering, even as heat radiated from his skin, clattering his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly.

Something almost emphatic, to the extent he was able to feel such emotions towards anyone but Elise, and,_ if he was being truthful_, Dazai, filled his chest. It was hard to admit after the cruelness he had subjected the boy to, trying to justify it and blame it on his former boss.

_The truth was that it hadn't stopped at all after he had killed the foul man, trying to spare Dazai from his suffering. If anything, it had become even worse, giving the teen a false sense of security, only to hit him as his guard lowered._

He had told himself that it was what Dazai needed, _wanted_ even, but even he had grown wiser along the years, realizing that it wasn't so much what he _needed _as much as the only thing he knew.

_He had failed him so badly._

"I'm sorry," he muttered into the unruly mess of dark hair, giving it a soft kiss as he cradled the broken man in his arms. Dazai hummed quietly, leaning into the embrace as if he was ten years old all over again, craving the body heat like a baby that wouldn't fall asleep.

"I didn't know what else to do," Mori stated weakly, finally answering Dazai's question from earlier. "At first, you were just a _pawn_ in my scheme to reach the top. But, don't underestimate the little guy. He can rise up to win the whole game, huh?"

"Shut up. I totally kicked your ass," Dazai whispered in a scattered voice, subconsciously gripping Mori's shirt in a tight grip. The coolness of Mori's smile softened, transforming from the menacing streak of callousness into a warmth he truly felt for the young man.

"I'm going to make right by you, somehow, someday," he said distantly, feeling Dazai's breathing grow softer and slower, a steady stream of heat to his chest. "But I still have to keep you on your toes you know."

Mori let his eyes slid shut, resting peacefully as his greatest creation finally rested safely in his arms once again.

* * *

It was hours later when Dazai finally woke back up. Confusedly, he looked around the strange, yet familiar surroundings, old dust tickling at his nose as he rubbed his eyes raw, allergies agitated and a small headache threatening to escalate into a migraine.

He did recognize this scenario. This wasn't the first time he had fallen asleep in Mori's arms. He hated the man, but still longed for the safety of the moments of peace that times like these brought him. Just a short break from the continuous pain and torture, the only times he truly felt _safe. _

Because when Mori held him, no one could touch him. No one tried to break him, mostly because, the man who had hurt him for the longest time, was trapped underneath the defenseless weight of his body. And still, the only thing he wanted was to melt back into those arms of brutality.

He knew it wasn't right, but his body was already missing the feeling. He forcefully tore himself loose, watching Mori's sleeping form for a moment, dry eyes suddenly turning wet, catching him off guard as his eyes overflooded, letting droplets fall down his cheeks. He had to get out of there before he lost his mind.

Carefully, he got up, limping heavily and leaning towards the wall to where his cruth lay on the floor, bending his good knee to catch it and steadied himself, and put it under his arm. He leaned into it, crossing the floor to the door.

Before he exited, he turned around one last time, watching Mori sleep calmly on the couch, soft snores were heard at every exhale through his nose.

"I love you, but I fucking hate you," he said quietly, resting his head on the doorframe before closing the door gingerly behind him, careful not to wake the sleeping man.

Mori creaked one eye open as he heard the door shut, sighing sadly and leaning forward, resting his face in the palm of his hands.

_"I know kid. I hate me too."_

* * *

**I can't play chess for shieeet, I only know where the pieces go to some extent. So, some serious research was needed for this! If anyone knows how to play and sees through the bullshit, please hold your peace. I have no idea, so let's just keep the illusion.**

**This is a story of highly complicated emotions and- I don't even know. It's about sympathizing with your abuser, remembering the good things while still feeling the hurt, which I know is really common when being subjected to that. This has been such a strange week, and I don't know how to handle everything. I guess it's perfect for writing angst though, even if the story never reaches a real conclusion. But I guess that's just reality. Not everything does.**


End file.
